


you, i just want you

by starkidpatronus



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Humor, Letters, Light Angst, Love Letters, M/M, POV Third Person, POV Third Person Limited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 13:49:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15316851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkidpatronus/pseuds/starkidpatronus
Summary: It's all so simple when you break it all down.Two roads converged down on a hallowed ground.It's taken all my life to hear the sacred soundof sweet simplicity.Merlin is writing Arthur a letter.





	you, i just want you

**Author's Note:**

> Title and song lyrics in the summary taken from "I Just Want You" by Sara Bareilles.

_Dear Arthur,_

_My heart yearns for you. Every hour, every minute, every second I go without your touch, my skin burns. I want to_

Merlin stops mid-sentence, crumpling up the paper into a ball and tossing it into his recycling basket. He shakes his head, mutters, _“Way_ too much,” and tries again.

_Dear Arthur,_

_Hair like the sun,_  
              _eyes like the sky._  
_When all is said and done,_  
_will you be mine?_

He stares at the paper for a minute, then crumples and tosses it again. Poetry? What is he, Shakespeare? A sixth-grader? “ _Idiot_ ,” he mutters to himself. He runs a hand through his hair, and sets pen to paper again.

_Dear Arthur,_

_I have a proposal for you. A business transaction, between two parties. The two parties being myself and you. I believe a merger would be mutually beneficial for the two parties involved. You would gain a trustworthy, loyal, honest, funny, handsome partner, and I would gain the love of my life. We would both gain regular sex._

_Please reply to my inquiry within ninety days. Thank you._

_Best Regards,_

_Merlin_

“Stop trying to be coy,” he tells himself as he tosses the paper yet again. Rolling up his sleeves, he tries again.

_Dear Arthur,_

_You are my best friend. I am your best friend. And friendship is great. I love being your best friend. I love having you as a best friend. I ~~wouldn’t~~  would change just one aspect of our friendship, though._

_I think we should become friends with benefits. No feelings, just sex. Just an idea I’ve been playing around with. I mean, we both know we’re in each other’s “I’d be down to fuck you if you asked” zones. We told each other that when we were drunk that one time at Gwaine’s, remember? I just think it would make sense to act on that, since we’re_ both _in_ each other’s _zones, you know? And I haven’t gotten laid in a while, and I know you haven’t had sex since you broke up with Vivian three months ago, so I know we’re both probably feeling rather pent-up. I know I am._

_Anyways, let me know what you think. Thanks._

_Your Friend,_

_Merlin_

He looks at it for a moment, then rips it into pieces and throws them into the air, letting them float to the ground with undeserved ceremony.

He stands up and leaves his room, walking into the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. He knows he said he wouldn’t leave the room until the damn thing was written. But he’s reached his breaking point here.

Midway through his cup of tea, in the middle of his meditating on his nonexistent love affairs, there’s a knock on the door. The knock is accompanied by a loud yell of, “Merlin, it’s me! Let me in!”

He rolls his eyes at the order rather than the question, but goes to let the clotpole in anyways.

Arthur is, of course, holding two cases of beer. “Hey,” he greets, stepping over the threshold and making his way to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, he shoves the cases in. “’Thought I’d bring these over in advance. You know, for tomorrow night.”

“Why are you bringing them over early?”

Arthur shrugs. “Just being proactive.”

“You didn’t have room to keep them in your own fridge, did you?”

“All right, fine, no, I didn’t,” he admits, and Merlin laughs. “But so what?”

“You have got to learn to eat your leftovers, Arthur,” he reprimands.

“I will the second reheated mac and cheese doesn’t take like garbage,” Arthur retorts, taking a yogurt out of the fridge and holding it up to Merlin, who nods. Arthur turns around to open the silverware drawer, taking out a spoon. He tears the top off the yogurt and digs in, asking, “So, what are you up to today?”

“Just doing a bit of writing,” Merlin replies easily, leaning against the island and picking his mug back up.

Clocking the tea cup, Arthur inquires, “’You stuck?”

“Yeah,” Merlin sighs, taking another sip of tea. “I don’t even know where to start today, really.”

“Anything I can help with?”

He smiles sadly at Arthur with his golden, eager-to-help heart and tells him plainly, “No. Not with this one.” His heart twists painfully at the fact that the one thing he needs from Arthur to make all this easier is the one thing Arthur cannot give him.

Arthur nods, ever-understanding, as he eats another spoonful of yogurt. “Well, you can do it on your own, anyways. You always find the words eventually.”

“Yeah, but—” Merlin starts, then cuts himself off, shaking his head. “Never mind.”

“No, what? Tell me.”

“No, I don’t—”

“Merlin, come on.”

“I just—” Merlin sighs, not knowing how to say it. He needs advice, and he always gets advice from Arthur about his writing. Arthur is his muse, in a way. (In more than one way, but he doesn’t need to know that just yet.) But he is supposed to ask Arthur about a love letter _for Arthur?_

Cautiously, he states, “It feels like this is too complicated for me to write about it. At least, I can’t do it the way I’m trying to do it.”

Arthur laughs, shaking his head. “Of course you think that.”

That sort of pisses Merlin off, so he challenges, “Why do you say that?”

“Because you make _everything_ too complicated, Merlin!” Arthur exclaims, the laughter still in his eyes. “You’d make your morning routine too complicated if you had enough energy to in the morning. You overcomplicate everything, when really, most things are quite simple. I have a feeling what you’re writing is a lot simpler than you think it has to be.”

And Merlin looks at Arthur, then, _really_ looks at him. He hasn’t been letting himself do that for a while now, only small glances. Drinking him in, but only in small doses. But now, Merlin lets himself look. Gaze. _See_.

He notices the way Arthur’s mouth curves around his spoon, notices how his eyes reflect the light shining in from the window above the sink, notices the easy and relaxed way he regards Merlin. Notices the way he leans back against the kitchen counter, knows how Merlin drinks tea when he’s stuck in his writing, casually helps himself to Merlin’s fridge.

He looks around his kitchen and sees how many of the items there have been touched by Arthur—the pan they’ve used to cook eggs on those mornings after Arthur slept on Merlin’s sofa for whatever reason, the ladle Arthur borrows all the time for his flat upstairs, the mug Arthur gave to Merlin after his trip to Switzerland—the very mug Merlin is holding right now. He sees, for the first time, how perfectly Arthur fits into his life. How simple this all really is.

“Maybe you’re right,” he allows, still looking.

“’Course I am,” Arthur agrees, eating the last spoonful of yogurt. Washing it out and tossing it into the recycling, he says over his shoulder, “I’m telling you, Merlin. You probably already know what you want to say. Don’t think too hard. Just put it into simple terms, and you’ll nail it.”

“Thanks,” Merlin says, meaning it as he gives another small smile. Arthur returns the smile, then checks his watch.

“All right, I’ve got to get going,” he declares. “’Got a call scheduled with my dad in a few.”

“Good luck,” Merlin replies, smirking slightly as he brings his mug to his lips.

Arthur rolls his eyes, tossing his spoon into the sink for Merlin to clean later, of course. “Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow. Go England!”

“Yeah, whatever,” Merlin says, a Welshman until the day he dies, even if they are out of the cup.

Arthur grins, starting to make his way to the door. “Don’t be _bitter_ , Merlin.”

“Over _your_ shitty team?” Merlin answers, following after Arthur. “Never.”

Arthur gives a loud laugh, saying, “Right, of course.” He opens the door, nods, and says, “Until tomorrow.”

“Until tomorrow,” Merlin agrees.

Arthur gives him one last heart-stopping grin, and then he’s gone, Merlin closing the door behind him. He lets his head rest against the door for a moment, letting himself feel everything he feels for once, uncensored and unmuted. Fully and completely.

Then, with a resolve he has only had a handful of times in his life, he returns to his bedroom. Not thinking, he sits down, takes another piece of paper off the stack he has sitting at his desk, and writes the damn letter.

_Dear Arthur,_

_Here it is in simple terms: I love you. I’m in love with you. I have been for a very long time, and I don’t think I ever won’t be._

_You don’t need to answer this. I already know your answer. I just wanted you to know._

_Love Always,_

_Merlin_

He leaves the letter for Arthur to find the next night, when everyone else is gone and Arthur has, of course, stayed behind. Just places it on the island in the kitchen, in an envelope with Arthur’s name on it.

Twenty minutes later, Arthur is still grinning and laughing and shouting about how England is definitely going to win the whole thing this year. He decides to grab another beer from the fridge, asking if Merlin wants one. Merlin declines, and while Arthur is in the kitchen, Merlin waits.

Arthur returns with a beer, and he’s so casual, Merlin thinks he hasn’t even seen the letter. He sits down next to Merlin on the couch and takes a sip from his can, watching the post-game coverage on the telly. Merlin watches Arthur, because how can he not?

After a moment, Arthur breaks the silence with, “So, you know my answer, do you?”

“I think I do,” Merlin replies, voice smaller than he would like.

“And what do you ‘think’ it is?”

“No.”

“Hm.”

Another moment passes, then Arthur shakes his head and says, smiling, “Merlin, you really are an absolute idiot, aren’t you?”

“Er—no?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Arthur responds emphatically, “you are.”

“And why’s that?” Merlin thinks he knows why, but he isn’t sure, never can be sure where these things are concerned, and his heart is thumping nearly out of his chest at the mere thought that he may be right, or he may be wrong, and what if Arthur—

In a flash, Arthur’s lips are on his own. And it’s everything.

It’s absolutely everything. It’s that pan they use for eggs and the mug Arthur got him in Switzerland because it just “is so _you_ , Merlin” and the countless advice sessions about Merlin’s writing and Arthur’s father and drunken nights that end with Arthur on this couch and the football games Arthur plays with his friends that Merlin watches and karaoke nights and the first time Arthur let Merlin see him cry and every time Merlin’s cried in front of Arthur and Arthur calling Merlin to change a lightbulb he can’t reach and that one time they talked about being willing to have sex together and sharing laundry detergent and eating candy together on Valentine’s Day while they’re both single and every dinner they’ve ever had when Merlin has wanted to reach over and take Arthur’s hand on the table and gaze into his eyes. It’s everything, all at once, and so much more. Merlin thinks he can find the entire meaning of life in the push and pull of Arthur’s lips, that the theory of what holds the entire universe lies in how Arthur bites his bottom lip before grinning against it.

When they pull away, Merlin doesn’t know what to say. Is there even anything _to_ say?

Arthur is grinning, and Merlin is crying a little, and Arthur is brushing the tears away from his face and fondly calling him an idiot. Merlin is laughing then, and Arthur is too. Then, Arthur tips their foreheads together, and they both breathe in deeply.

“My answer is _yes_ , you fool,” Arthur murmurs. “It always has been.”

Merlin hiccups a little in his attempt to laugh, because he’s just so happy, but so overwhelmed, and he never thought he could have this, _never_ —

Arthur kisses him again, softly, sweetly, quickly, just once. Against his lips, he says softly, still smiling, “Now, what about that was so very complicated?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave kudos and a comment if you enjoyed! As always, let me know if you have any requests for future works; I can be reached at thewriternotthemuse.tumblr.com. :) <3


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